


You're Coming Back, And It's The End Of The World

by SteelAngel



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Kinda sad too, M/M, soft fluff, sort of novel like
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 07:02:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15625305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteelAngel/pseuds/SteelAngel
Summary: I might turn this into a multi chapter thing OR a series of drabbles! lemme know whatcha think! ^^;





	You're Coming Back, And It's The End Of The World

**Author's Note:**

> I might turn this into a multi chapter thing OR a series of drabbles! lemme know whatcha think! ^^;

Even indoors, the air was cool, _biting_. It's icy fingers crept over shoulders, gripping the skin and causing the hairs to rise. The only light in this small, cold room, was a shaded table lamp, it's base a white coloration, chipping paint long since cared for. The patterns along the shade were softened by it's warm light, but the images of embroidered roses, leaves, and blue birds could still be seen. A lamp owned by his grandmother, then passed to his mother, Dwight Fairfield now took possession of this piece of furniture, it's glowing light a staple in his bedroom.

 

Almost everything in the house looked as if it had belonged to his grandmother, perhaps even his mother. Lace doilies, red trimmed curtains, less than a little bit soft towels and bath mats, worn from the years of washing and drying. Pictures were hung on the walls, a reflection of the lamp glossing over the glass and casting shadows under the frames; These pictures told _stories_ only he would understand.

 

Some nights he misses them, his parents. Even after all they had done to try and save him, looking for him long after he was gone, there was nothing Dwight could do to save **them**. A year after he'd been devoured temporarily into the Entity's realm, a year before he would be free from it, they had suffered fatal wounds in a three car collision on the intersection between _14_ _th_ _avenue_ and _Columbus street_. The other drivers and passengers had made it out, the worst of their grievances being a broken wrist. But not _them_ , not his parents. Thinking of them often hurt his heart dearly, which was why the pictures on the walls were only _half of it_.

 

Tucked in drawers, stashed away in photo albums, were more memories, more _stories_. Collecting dust and preventing the shed of tears, their job was to simply wait until the dust was no longer swirling wildly above the long, winding road. The cars that drove through didn't stop for the dust, they didn't ask for directions, even ask the road if it was **okay**. After the months that followed the shock of returning to society, hearing the news, Dwight had moved in to their home, lived with the dust clogging his lungs and clouding his mind. That is, until it settled somewhat, months after that. Someone had finally stopped along the road, their tires sore and their engine dry. They had seen the dust, the potholes, the _disrepair_. It had been **Jake**.

 

They were close before the escape. Almost close enough for Dwight to see his pores, staring deep into those sad, but quiet eyes. He had felt those lips, those hands, soft, yet **firm**. Jake had known for some time that they were drifting closer, even helped Dwight with his lack of assertiveness. A spine built from rubber, he needed encouragement. The mysterious man of the forest had given him just that, and oh so much more.

 

Laying beside him, under the stitched quilt and sheets, was that same man. In the light of this lamp, his resting features were cast in warm shadows. It was calming, listening to the other's breathing, watching his chest rise gently and fall with such slow, _softness_. Now, their hurt filled past seemed distant, but still aching. Like an old wound that never seemed to heal, always scabbing over and cracking, festering at times. Waking up in the middle of the night, shaking and shivering from the images they'd seen. It all seemed so real, just like it did back there down to the very last detail. On more than one occasion, Dwight had woken up to the sounds of Jake's troubled night terrors, simply holding him tightly and hoping it would ease his torment. It had worked every time, but he still feared the night it didn't, the night Jake truly felt in danger.

 

The urge to leave was strong in him, Dwight knew it. The fear, the social awkwardness, the guilt. While he didn't know everything about how Jake felt, he could tell things just by looking him in the eyes. The yearning for solitude, clashing with the heart pounding fear of being alone.

 

 **Alone**. Dwight didn't want to be alone, not even in the real world, where that monster and it's vicious minions couldn't harm him. That's just what post traumatic stress did to him, did to all of them. They were cautious now, wary of strangers, afraid of the dark... All seemingly _childish_ fears, they haunted them. Lurked around corners some were too scared to turn, in gaps they were too afraid to leap across, behind bushed they dared not approach. Paranoia got the best of Dwight in every situation, and right now, watching Jake sleep in his bed, he was worried that he would leave.

 

Out there, there was no telling what trouble he would get into. Sure, he trusted Jake to survive on his own, as he did it for years living alone in the woods, but the anxiety in his heart made him think otherwise. Swirling and never settling for more than a few heartbeats, this worry fueled his being, creating the dust seen on the road. It was thick, like fog, hanging in places it shouldn't, as known by it's own physics. The clouds seemed heavy almost, burdened with emotions that seeped out the seams. Tape had been holding him together for so long, through the mud, blood, and rain. Tape wouldn't last _forever_.

 

Slowly, the man laid back on the soft sheets, the quilt already over his legs as he had sat up in the warm, inviting bed to **think** for a while in the crispness of their room. The curtains, with their red trim, swayed in his peripheral vision. The window had been cracked, _no wonder it was so cold!_ Not bothering to close it, Dwight tugged the quilt up, covering what had been chilled and settling in. To his _right_ , the lamp on the nightstand. To his _left_ , his resting partner. With two fingers, he flicked back the rocker switch on the lamp, it's welcoming glow fading to blackness.

 

Turning to his left, thin arms encircle the other as best as he can, pressing a cheek into his broad shoulder. _Please, don't leave._

 


End file.
